Wilkinson Genealogical Submissions and Requests Archive This page contains all posts to the Wilkinsons Genealogical Requests Page from its inception through the end. the to a of and in for on that is said was with at Woman Found Stabbed to Death. Authorities are investigating after a year-old Arlington, Virginia woman was found stabbed to death in her home.
This is a begging letter, as my mother would have called it. I am begging anyone who thinks they might have the slightest interest in coming to the next Writing Matters event on Saturday evening, June 20th, featuring the absolutely delightful children's book writer Amy Krouse Rosenthal to buy their ticket right now.
That way, I know how much food and how many flowers and how many boxes of crayola crayons to buy. That way I'll know if I can continue to produce this series which means to much to me and to the many who come. There's a photo I prize above all others of my mom and me. I'm about five, and she's reading to me, and the look on both of our faces is identical: All these years later, one of my favorite things to do is to get lost in a story, in words and cadence and message.
As for my mom, she listened to books on tape in her hospice room up until her last hours. Reading is important for so many reasons. Supporting authors who deserve more attention than they get is important.
As far as I know, we are the ONLY organization that focuses on those authors who deserve better, and the rewards are so great: The author gets a great crowd.
The kids at Hephzibah get to go to The Magic Tree Bookshop and pick out whatever book they want to read and take it home--it's theirs. I get the great pleasure of watching your faces as you watch the author.
If we can keep going, I can keep offering you authors I love whom I believe you will love, too. I have in mind inviting poet laureate Charles Simic for September; he has a new book of poems and essays out.
Have you heard of him? Keep Writing Matters alive and you'll get to enjoy him, as well as all the other things we provide at every event: And listen to this: A man and a woman who came solo met at a Writing Matters event, and they're getting married. At the bottom of this posting I'll give you the link to buy tickets. And Amy Krosuse's website. You will love her. She's one of those fantastic upbeat people who makes you happy too. I always say that a good children's book can be equally enjoyed by an adult as well as a kid.
In fact, I belonged to a children's book club before I had children. Before I even got married! That's because I find them so charming. I think you'll find Amy and her books charming. You can also find out what it is that makes a writer of children's books. What draws them to it? What unique talents must a children's book writer have? I don't know if you've EVER met anyone who wrote a great book about an exclamation mark. But if you come to Writing Matters on June 20th, you'll meet the woman who did.
Wear something whimsical and prepare to have fun. Eat the kid food I'll provide. This time, instead of a kid essay reader, we're having someone at the other end of spectrum: Please, please, please consider buying your ticket now. It would help us so much and then you'd be able to say you're booked for a date in June already!
I know it's been a really long time since I wrote anything on here. I suppose that almost anyone reading this knows that I've been "talking" on Facebook rather than here. It seems I can't really do both. So for those of you who enjoy my comments or essayettes, please look for them on my Facebook page. This website will be useful for biographical information and news about books and events and recipes, though, so I hope you're come over and visit sometimes.
And thank you for your interest and support. I have gotten lots of wonderful Christmas presents in my life. I suppose I'm typical in remembering most strongly the gifs of childhood: Also the time I got the teddy bear I called Hope, whom I still have. But the other day I got another wonderful gift. I awakened in the morning to the adoring gaze of my golden, Homer, who'd gotten up on the bed during the night and was stretched out alongside me with his head on a pillow.
It made me laugh out loud, which made him thump his tail. I came downstairs and got a cup of coffee, then went into my study to work, and it started to snow. It was the kind of snow that looked like someone had torn up lace, and it drifted down slowly and so beautifully for hours. After I finished working, I went to our little downtown to get some shopping done, and coming down the street was a sleigh being pulled by a team of horses wearing jingle bells.
The sleigh had wheels, which was a good thing, given that the snow hadn't stuck. Outside one store was a group of carolers wearing old fashioned clothes: I have to tell you I devastated when I learned there was no Santa. I remember sitting out on the curb knee to knee with my best friend Cathy, saying, "Well, maybe there's no Santa Claus, but there is definitely an Easter Bunny.
No one would make that up! Even if they girls would deny being innocent, even if they would resent being called innocent, that is how they looked.
This concert was a fundraiser, and in the lobby there were gingerbread cookies lying on a paper plate, ginger men and ginger ladies, so many it looked like a small nation, and they were only five dollars. I bought them before the concert started and brought them in with me so they could hear too. I sat behind some teenage girls, and one was fooling around with the another's hair the whole time, carefully laying this strand over that and the effect was really very relaxing.
It reminded me of my friend Phyllis, who used to pay her neices a quarter to mess around with her hair--gently! After the concert I went to a holiday party where I knew almost no one, but enjoyed a freindly chat and some wonderful food and an excellent martini which I drank from a plastic glass featuring a holly and berry design. When I went to bed, I realized I'd had a perfect day. Joy lay on my chest like a cat.
Good thing it wasn't a real cat, because it would have gotten in the way of Homer repeating his lie-on-the bed move, which he did happily that night. Merry Christmas to all who don't mind hearing it. May the new year bring up hope, happiness and a measure of sanity to our inglorious Congress. In the spirit of the season, I offer the following recipe: Pull beleaguered turkey from refrigerator. Also pull out all the other leftovers.
Get out the icky white bread, the kind so soft it folds over in your hand before you've even done anything to it. Wonder bread is best, but take care not to get any of that vile enriched or WW stuff.
Spread both sides of the bread with a lot of mayonnaise. The goal here is to have mayonnaise squishing out of the sandwich every time you take a bite.
Pile on some turkey. Pile on some stuffing. Pile on some cranberry sauce. Pile on some potato chips. Pile on some gravy and also some green bean bake. Keep telling that person that this is YOUR sandwich, no, they cannot have a bite, if they want one, make their own.
Only the little one. The little ones are best because they fit properly in the hand and they have the right amout of syrup and also they remind you of Santa Claus whom you like even if you don't believe in him because he's s such a good guy and because old as he is--and jeez, think how OLD he is!
Photograph your sandwich from a few different angles. You will use one of these photos to have a t-shirt made to sleep in and to remind you that next year you can have another sandwich just like this. Not before, or your doctor and Michele Obama will get you. Take a huge bite. Chew until it's all gooshy. Then call your little grandchildren over by using a series of grunts and gestures. Say, "War a bi? When you have finished eating the sandwich, go to the kitchen and get out the left over pie.
You know what to do. On my last day in Positano, I went with my friend Lauren and her husband Rino to Tramonti, in the hills of Amalfi, to vist a vineyard. Lauren had gotten a call that today was the day: The ride up into the hills was so beautiful: A videographer who works with Lauren was waiting for us so that he could lead us to the place where the cutters were working these grapes are cut by hand, not machine.
I was struck by the pride and apparent joy of the cutters, who held bunches of green grapes up like a trophy, the sun illuminating the fruit in a way that was living art.